


Frilly Round The Edges

by cyus (cruentum)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, M/M, Smoking, blowjob, bottom!Arthur, implied Arthur/Gwen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruentum/pseuds/cyus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's drunk and stumbles into a club and falls mouth-first on a cock. Or something like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frilly Round The Edges

**Author's Note:**

> written for [Merlin summerpornathon](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com) round 1: image prompts. Image used: http://i.imgur.com/SuwL8.jpg (NSFW)

Arthur's well past bladdered, well past clinging to walls and seeing things in dimensions no one's quite discovered yet. Well past the music on the system too. Well past all of it, Gwen and the covert little kisses in the dark alcoves and the shush shush of keeping their affair secret while everyone else was practically making out on the dancefloor.

He'd already been hard when he walked in, harder when he inched along the side of the bar because Gwen and her chaste do-no-wrong left him chubbed up in his trousers and looking for more while she'd pushed his hand away and told him to shove it. Politely, of course, always polite and still whispering how much she loved him.

He'd not meant to stumble in, hadn't meant to leave her standing there swaying along to the music and waiting for him to come back with something frilly for her.

He'd not meant any of it, but now he couldn't look away in the club next door. Hard in too tight trousers and the rest of the world way too far outside the door, he stood and stared and stared some more, until someone jostled him hard, shoulder into his back making him swivel around, fist at the ready to smash into a too pretty face on a bloke. The bloke shrank away, confused.

A hand curled around the nape of his neck, threaded into his hair, pulling, and turned him away.

"No need for that," a voice said, breath hot and damp against his ear.

Arthur pushed against the touch but the fingers tightened on the nape of his neck and drew him away: away from the bar and the dancefloor, into the darker alcoves and corners of the club, where the music was a steady low thump in the floor and the walls, and less tone than noise.

When Arthur turned around to catch his first glimpse of who the hand belonged to, smoke curled up his chest, to his face, and caught in the strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes.

He'd seen the bloke around, at his father's dos, the little parties and get-togethers of the wannabe-influentials, the future movers and shakers.

"Fancy meeting you," the bloke said, and added, "Gwaine," for a name as if that meant more to Arthur than the swishy hair and the lean against the wall that pushed Gwaine's crotch out towards Arthur's body. "Hm, liking it aren't you?"

Arthur muttered something about Gwen next door and the stumble to the loos, or for more beer, ending with him walking out of one club and into another, but Gwaine just exhaled past the side of Arthur's face and pulled him in closer to Gwaine's (naked) chest.

"Shh," Gwaine whispered into Arthur's ear, voice ripe with smoke, "shhh."

He reeked of sweat (good, that), so different to Gwen that Arthur didn't think to question all the other blokes in the club, the lack of shirts and the prominence of crotches and hands in the back of jeans. He didn't think to question anything, only (foolishly) chased the smoke from Gwaine's cigarette with his lips until Gwaine's hand at the back of Arthur's neck pushed him down.

Kneecaps to floor and lips to jeans-covered crotch registered next, then the sharp edges of the zipper against Arthur's chin, and tasting Gwaine, thinking Gwen, brain too lazy to catch up with the pussy on his tongue being a cock down his throat.

Arthur had seen Gwaine at his father's, watched him talk smart, talk bullshit.

"Good, that," Gwaine said above him, talking smart and talking bullshit, still guiding Arthur along as if he was driving Uther's investment to tripled profits, with more experience than his MBA and his pseudo-smart talk let on.

Gwaine sucked on his cigarette in-between, smoke blowing into Arthur's face and Arthur soaked it up with the scent of his sweat and the platitudes and the come. "I'll keep you here, won't let you go back over. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

And maybe Gwaine had been watching him as much as he'd been watching Gwaine at his father's parties, crotch prominent in suit trousers, tie pointing towards the target. Maybe.

"Can't," Arthur thought he said around the cock and over the sound of the bass. Can't because "Gwen", because "things", but with the cock in his mouth he couldn't bring the words out.

He blinked upwards, eyes tearing up, until he closed them. Better that way.


End file.
